


Right or wrong, don't it turn you on?

by Northern_Star



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Hate Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Star/pseuds/Northern_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things were always more intense in an Olympic year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right or wrong, don't it turn you on?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cmk418](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmk418/gifts).



> Written for the OffSeasonMatch exchange on LiveJournal; originally posted anonymously.  
> This was a pinch hit, and I actually plotted and wrote some of it while sitting at a baseball game in Toronto, where I was on vacation. I'm weird and crazy, what can I say?
> 
> Title from a Gary Glitter song; oh yeah, I'm really that lame.  
> Summary is actually the requester's prompt.

**October 9, 2013. Scottrade Center.  
Warmup session**

David skates by the red line, once, twice, three times. Each time he does, he scans the other side of the ice for Jonathan Toews. Each time, he finds Toews looking in his direction. David always smirks at him, cocky as he can make himself look. 

It's the first time the two teams meet this season, and David finds he's missed this little game of cat-and-mouse they've got going between them, though he's pretty sure he'd be the only one calling it that. 

It takes an awful lot to get under Toews' skin, but David loves trying. He knows he does it better than anyone else; Captain Serious doesn't drop the gloves very often, but David has made him do it twice himself.

This game is going to be a lot of fun, David thinks, as he skates back to the Blues' bench at the end of the session. Hell, this entire season is going to be a lot of fun, Olympics and all.

"Whatcha grinning at?" asks T.J. who's standing by the bench door.

David shrugs like it's nothing, but he's chuckling and giving himself away.

"Oh, shit, not Tazer again?"

"Who else?" David answers over his shoulder as he walks away.

"Try not to kill the guy, this season, eh?"

David laughs out loud.

 

**October 17, 2013. United Center.  
Second period.**

"What are you staring at?" David shoots at Toews, as they approach the faceoff circle. "Huh, huh? Whatcha staring at?"

"Go to hell," Toews spits back. "And I wasn't staring."

David snorts; obscenely so. "Of course you were," he says. "I know you want a piece of this, you perv. It's written all over your fake little Captain Serious face."

"Screw you," says Toews, and he turns his attention to the faceoff he's supposed to take.

"Oh, you wish," David calls to him, from his position, a few feet away.

Toews loses the faceoff; the puck lands in the net, behind Crawford, just a second later. David is very, very amused.

"You do that again, I'm going to rearrange your face," Toews shoots at David, snarling as he skates by.

"Is that a threat, or a promise?"

Toews comes back, plants himself in front of David, clearly fuming.

"What?" asks David, looking innocent. "I didn't do a thing."

"Don't fucking push me, I swear."

David laughs. "Why? Have you finally learned to throw a punch like a real man?"

A couple of Toews' teammates -- Keith and Seabrook, the pair that's notoriously attached at the hip -- immediately grab their captain by the arms, pulling him away before the guy has any chance to drop the gloves and land himself a penalty.

"Ah, shucks," says David, "Why'd you guys have to spoil all the fun?"

Seabrook, the biggest of the trio, gives David the evil eye. "You leave him the hell alone, or we'll declare it open season on your scrawny little ass."

"Scrawny!" David snorts. "You _wish_ your ass was as fine as mine."

"C'mon man," says one of the refs who's been standing by the whole time. "Either you get in position, or you get off the ice right now. Else I'm sending your supposedly fine ass to the box."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," David replies, shaking his head, and he skates away toward the faceoff circle.

It's all right, though. He's won this battle.

 

**December 28, 2013. Scottrade Center.  
First period.**

David has already slammed Toews into the boards a couple of times, and there's still over 8 minutes of play in this period. You'd think the guy would know better than to look down or away by now, but apparently he doesn't. It's too bad for him, but great for David, because he's enjoying this -- a lot. 

With less than a minute and a half before intermission, David gets yet another chance. He skates in, full speed, and literally hammers Toews into the protective glass. The crowd cheers loudly as David turns away, chasing after the puck, smirking like the Cheshire Cat.

The next thing David knows, someone grabs him by the collar, pulls, and lands a punch right by the side of his jaw. A ref whistles, and the arena suddenly goes very, very quiet. 

David lets his gloves fall to the ice and attempts to protect himself from an absolutely irate-looking Brandon Bollig. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Toews lying face down on the ice, a trainer crouching next to him. _Oh, fuck._

Eventually, both David and Bollig land enough penalty minutes to last them well into 2014. A few others get sent to the box as well. It takes a long while for play to finally resume.

As for Toews, he gets up -- eventually -- and skates back to the Blackhawks bench without any assistance. Little fucker was probably just faking. 

David won't admit to anyone, but deep down he's still relieved to see Toews wasn't seriously injured on the play. For a second there, he'd actually been very worried. David doesn't _like_ Jonathan Toews, but if he's being completely honest, he'd miss him if he were gone. 

 

**February 10, 2014. Sochi, Russia.  
Immediately following a Team Canada practice.**

Toews' face is still red, from practice and his shower, when he comes out of the dressing room.

"You're not supposed to be here," he says, looking immediately pissed off when he notices David standing there in the corridor.

"What's it to you?"

"Nothing, I don't even give a shit," says Toews with a shrug. He doesn't walk away, though, just stands there looking all... _Captain Serious_ , really.

"Your body language tells a different tale," David replies, a lopsided smile forming on his lips. 

Toews grimaces. "My body language is lying."

"Uh huh."

"What the fuck are you doing here anyway? Scouting the opposition?"

"Maybe..." says David, and he licks his lips.

Toews rolls his eyes. "Do me a favor, and go fuck yourself."

"Why don't you come with me?" David asks with a very exaggerated wink.

Toews doesn't seem to be able to come up with anything else to say, which is a little bit weird, because he's always been able to find ways to tell David to fuck off before. But the most surprising thing is that Toews' cheeks are turning a brighter shade of red.

 _Interesting_ , David thinks to himself. Not exactly what he'd had in mind when he wandered here -- he'd been thinking more like mind games -- but he's certainly not opposed to having sex in a supply closet. In fact, he really wouldn't mind getting a piece of _that_ action.

"Aw, well look at that," David says, since Toews seems incapable of speaking for now, "if I'd known you were interested, we could have fixed that a long time ago."

"Don't kid yourself, I have no interest in _you_."

David raises an eyebrow, his eyes wandering below Toews' belt. "Is that so?"

"What's it to you, anyway?" Toews is trying to look defiant, but he's failing so badly, it's almost funny.

"A really good fuck, I expect," says David, in a voice much huskier than he would have liked it to be. He doesn't want Toews to know how badly he's starting to want this, would rather the guy think he's being obnoxious; he knows he can wear him down anyway, he always can.

"What makes you think you'll get one?"

One of Toews' teammates walks out of the locker room then; one of the goalies, and clearly one who doesn't know there's bad blood between the two guys standing in the hall. He just mutters an "Hey," and walks away.

David grabs Toews' wrist before he has any sort of a chance to follow his teammate out of the arena. He'd really hate to lose his chance at this.

"C'mon," he says, "there has to be somewhere private we can go in this stupid Russian hell hole."

Toews pulls back, but clearly not forcefully enough. David tries to hide his smile. He opens the first door he sees. It leads into a small room with a very old wooden table and a chair; there's nothing else there. David has no idea what it's normally used for, but it's perfect for what he has in mind right now.

David kicks the door closed behind them and pushes Toews back against it, gently but forcefully. The last thing he wants is for the guy to hit his head again. 

"Alone at last," he says, with a smile as lewd as the thoughts running through his head.

"Since when are you interested in me anyway?"

"Oh, I've _always_ had an interest in you."

Toews raises an eyebrow. "I meant besides splattering me all over the boards..."

"There aren't any of those here," says David, gesturing to the mostly empty room. "And all I'm actually interested in right now, is a nice piece of ass. Yours, as it were. So, what say you. Yea or nay?"

"Well," Toews begins with a long sigh, "On one hand, I hate you. On the other..." He stops and thinks for a while. "Nope, I hate you on the other hand too. And I very seriously doubt you have it in you to fuck me as intensely as you irritate me out on the ice."

"A challenge?"

"If you think you're up to it."

"Aaaand...what do I get if I win?"

"Bragging rights?" says Toews, shrugging. "Don't know, don't care. They don't give out a trophy for that one. But I'll let you know when we're done."

"Well, then, saddle up, cowboy," says David, as he begins removing his dress shirt, "'cause you're going to get the ride of your life."

Toews snorts. "I'll be the judge of that," he mutters, mostly to himself. He gets his belt undone and drops his pants unceremoniously.

"Bend over the table when you're done," David tells him. He's halfway out of his own pants. Normally, for a quickie like this, he'd just unzip and go, but these are nice dress pants, and he's only brought a short supply of those out here, so he's not risking it.

As Toews obeys and bend down over the edge of the wooden table, he looks over his shoulder and says, "You'd better damn well be putting a rubber on."

David waves the unused condom he pulled out of his waller. "Well _duh_. How much of an idiot do you think I am?"

"You really want an answer?"

Ignoring the question, David strokes himself, trying to get himself hard enough so he can get things going. Lucky he's got a nice view of Toews' ass from where he's standing behind him. He's going to enjoy this more than he cares to admit.

The condom unrolled over his dick, David pushes Toews' legs a little further apart, and moves in close enough for his balls to brush against Toews' ass. And then he waits for a moment, deliberately.

"What the fuck's taking you so long?" Toews asks, looking over his shoulder, an annoyed expression on his face.

"Trying to decide if you deserve any prep before I go in..."

"You're an ass," Toews spits at him, batting at David's leg with his hand.

"Maybe," David chuckles, "But for now, let's concentrate on yours, shall we?"

"Would you fucking shut up and get this show on the road? I don't intend to stand here all day."

"Fine then, you asked for it," says David in a low voice. 

He slides his thumb down into Toews' ass, stretches him out just barely, then finally takes the plunge, forcing his dick in as far as it will go, ignoring the groans and the curses he hears.

David doesn't go gentle, and he doesn't go slow. He's going hard and strong, every bit as intense as he promised to do it. More, even. And if he lets his hand come down hard on Toews' ass, slapping him once or twice, it's only to be as annoying as he can possibly be. Besides, it's part of the deal, isn't it?

In the end, it's not a very long affair, and David comes -- hard as well -- within just a few minutes' time. He pulls away, panting, and leans against the wall for a moment.

"The verdict, your honor?" he asks, between two deep breaths.

Toews pushes away from the table, silently gathers his clothes and starts putting them back on.

"Well?" David asks, hoping his annoyance is showing.

Toews exhales loudly and makes a face, as if he's debating the question. "I guess you might say it was... _irritating_ ," he finally answers.

It takes a second before David understands what Toews is really saying. He smirks. "Great," he says, "maybe I'll see you again later, then. Like, oh...say, maybe after we beat you for the gold?"

"Fat chance," says Toews, who's just about completely dressed again now. "I don't expect to see much of you at all until mid-March when you guys come to Chicago."

"Whatever," David replies with a shrug.

"I _might_ wait for you after the game."

"Then I'll try to irritate you as much as I can."

"Good deal," says Toews, and a moment later he's left the room.

David smirks to himself. To the victor go the spoils.

 

END.


End file.
